Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

between breaths as they ran along.
    They were running the trails in Maudslay State Park, alongside the Merrimack River, and the shade provided by the dense woods provided welcome relief from what had been a very warm, late summer day. But as warm as it had been, Jack could sense a difference in the quality of the heat, as the seasonal change from summer to fall had begun.
    The trail had suddenly widened, and Jack knew that for the next mile or so they would be able to run side by side. There weren’t quite as many roots and rocks here as on other parts of the trail. With better footing, the need to concentrate on each step lessened, and it was easier to talk.
    He had promised Max that he would talk to Dave about going up north, and now, about three miles into what would turn out to be a seven-mile run, it seemed like as good a time as any.
    Dave replied with a question of his own. “So that’s what’s going on? … She … has been … hinting at something for … the past few days.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Don’t be … . So tell me what it’s all about.”
    “You know … I don’t have the boat this fall. … I just felt the need to get away … . Max is reading this book … on quilts, and I heard … about this B&B called … The Quilt House … . It’s up in the mountains, and … with the Rockdog Run coming up later, I … thought that maybe I … could get in some training runs … and kill two birds with one stone.”
    “Sneaky. Does Max know about … this idea?”
    “Only the B&B part … . If you and Patti come along, then … the running part will be easier to explain …”
    “Sure. … Sounds like it could be fun.”
    With that settled, the remaining miles passed quickly and silently.
    * * *
    Max greeted Jack at the door, and it was obvious that she wanted to know what Dave had said. “So?”
    “So, what?”
    “You know what.”
    “We had a good run. Much cooler in the woods.”
    “Jack! Come on, what did Dave say?”
    “Oh, that.”
    “Yeah, that.”
    “He said it sounded like a good idea. I’ll call the place tomorrow and book another room.”
    Max’s face lit up as she threw her arms around him and gave him a big hug and kiss. “It’ll be so much fun; you’ll see. Now, go take a shower. You stink.” She pushed him away. “I’ve got to call Patti.”

CHAPTER 7
The next morning, Christine could not bring herself to leave her cabin. She ignored the pleadings of the kindly old cook to eat something, as she would not open the door for him. She remained behind the closed door through the mid-day. As the hours passed, she noticed that the motion of the ship had changed. No longer did the ship cleave the water in a lazy, gentle manner, but rather with more force and urgency. She could hear commands being shouted, followed by other shouts, and the footsteps on the deck above her head seemed louder as the crew ran about. Sails started clapping and the ship moaned while chants accompanied the heaving of men as they pulled as one on some unseen rope or line. The ship heeled, forcing her deeper into her berth and fear began to creep into her soul.
    * * *
    Max shivered and put the book down. She knew that feeling. She had felt the same fear that Christine was feeling, except that for her, it had been real. Christine’s experience was only on paper, the product of imagination.
    Max had fallen so deeply into the story that as she looked around the room and saw the clock, she was surprised at how much time had passed. She took a deep breath. All was as it should be. Jack was out and Cat was curled up on the couch next to her. The cries of gulls fighting over some scrap blew in through the open window, carried by a freshening breeze. She stood, walked to the window, and pulled it shut. But as Max looked out over the marsh, Christine was still in her head. She stretched, returned to the couch, and stroked Cat. Then, without thinking, she picked up the book again.
    * * *
There was a knock on the cabin door. She struggled to her feet and with great difficulty made her way to the door. It wasn’t locked, but everyone on the ship respected its closure. As she grasped the handle, the ship lurched, throwing her back and pulling the door open at the same time. The force with which she fell back ripped her hand off the handle and she cried out as she fell. At first, the astonished old cook could only stand and gawk at her. Then, as he gathered his wits, he said, as if nothing had happened and she